


Not a Bit Like Heaven

by Nanyoky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Aunt Wanda Maximoff, Car Accidents, Coma, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Haunting, Hospitals, Hungarian, Inspired by a Movie, Misunderstandings, Orphans, Past Pietro Maximoff/Crystal Amaquelin, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, San Francisco, Temporary Amnesia, Veterans, badly translated hungarian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanyoky/pseuds/Nanyoky
Summary: It's not nice to exorcise people from their own homes.A Winterwitch RomCom AU based on the movie Just Like Heaven.





	1. Decency: In Regards to Paprika and Couches

**Author's Note:**

> So I just remembered this movie existed a couple of weeks ago and promptly was in DESPERATE NEED of an au for everything I have ever shipped. Since I couldn't really find any, I decided to write one. Some details of the plot are changed to better fit characters, but if you know the movie, you know what you're getting into.

“I’ll pick up the chicken and onions, but I’m not taking three buses across town for the decent paprika.” Wanda transferred her phone to her shoulder so she could stock the shelf full of sage bundles. No matter how she arranged them, they looked stupid and dirty. No one would ever buy bundles of plants that looked stupid and dirty. “Or- you know what? I will. I’ll do it. Don’t worry about _anything_ \- I want you two to just spend time together. You can let yourself in. Just get off work as soon as you can and pick up-“

“Wanda, come on. I can handle _one_ thing. The European market is on my way to yours. Don’t-“

“No- you don’t know what brand-“

“It’s _Szeged_ , in the rectangle tin.”

“They _used_ to put it in a tin, now it is made of _plastic_ -“ she knocked over a few candles and cursed softly under her breath. “Just don’t worry about it. I’ll pick it up.”

A hefty sigh on the other line. “Fine- if it helps you worry less…”

“I just want to make sure we don’t have to run out again tonight.”

“Sure. I’ll see you in an hour, okay? Love you, _Drágám_.”

“Love you too. And take your-”

"I did!"

Wanda didn’t mean to spend much longer on the shelving, but nothing looked right. And once she took a step back, she realized the lettering on all the signs leaned up against the counter while the dried were near illegible and needed another coat of paint. Then, the glass on the front counter display was smudged beyond reason. Before she knew it, her phone was ringing again.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she cringed as she threw her jacket on, her phone on speaker on the counter. “I _swear_ , I’m leaving right now.”

“Do you want us to get the ingredients? We’re getting hungr- no- _Kishold_ \- please put that-“

“No, you two just relax. Don’t worry about anything, okay? Just put in a movie and-“

“No- please don’t drop that-“ a crash and a groan. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I know you liked that vase from the flea market…”

“It’s fine- don’t worry about it.” She turned the speaker off and headed out the door, triple checking the lock behind her. “I can’t _wait_ to see you two. You know that, right? _Nothing_ is going to ruin this dinner. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“You’ve been looking forward to _tomorrow_ for weeks. We just had the idea for _tonight_ a few days ago.”

“Well, even so,” she started down the road towards the bus station. “I can’t wait. The three of us- _Mama’s_ _paprikash_ , _Apa’s_ _plakis_.”

“Seriously- let us go out and get ingredients. That way you could relax for a minute before we get back and then we could all cook together.”

“I’m telling you, relax! I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Alright- see you soon.”

“30 minutes, tops!”

Wanda hung up and looked down the street. She couldn’t see the bus coming, so she started down the street at a power walk. She had always been good at weaving through pedestrian traffic to the point where it was sometimes faster for her to walk than wait for the next trolley or bus. If she kept moving, Wanda was sure she would be able to keep her promise.

Unless the line at the market had anything to say about it. She forwent the basket and cart huddle and instead gathered all the necessary ingredients in her arms as she half-jogged through the mess. Apparently, Thursday night at 7 was a prime time for delicatessen shoppers. Wanda went through the self-checkout like a mad woman, practically throwing each item into one bulging bag.

“What’s the rush?” The red-haired woman at the next station smirked at her. It was not an unfriendly smile, but not particularly warm either.

“A very important date with the prettiest girl in the world and a handsome man with bad hair.”

The woman’s grin broadened. “Like your style.”

She offered the woman a quick smile in return and gathered up her things as fast as possible, practically running out the door in order to make the crosstown bus to her apartment. But again, there was only an endless sea of four doors on the street. With a sigh, she checked her phone before hitching her bag up further on her shoulder and starting to jog down the alley.

She was going to be almost an hour later than her most recent ETA. Wanda was not usually like this. Usually she was much better a prioritizing- and she was _never_ late for an appointment she was actually looking forward to. But with the shop’s grand opening first thing in the morning, she was having trouble finding enough organizational skills to find time for everything she needed to finish. She was already rethinking the candle display. Wanda shuffled the bag in her arms so she could pull out her phone and see the last five missed text messages.

_Why don’t you come straight here?_

_We’re getting hungry so I’m ordering a pizza._

_Really, don’t worry about it._

_Pizza is less stress anyway and we can cook together another time._

_Just get here safe._

She was in the midst of texting back, telling him not to order anything since she was only seventeen blocks away, when she noticed the street around her was suddenly a lot brighter and louder than it should be.

~

Bucky was sure there was a conspiracy. A conspiracy against lazy veterans who hated moving furniture. First, the real estate agent had looked like he was crazy when he asked for a pre-furnished apartment, then she’d taken him to see the saddest, most clinically decorated units in all of San Fransisco.

“I dunno, Miss Lewis.” He kicked softly at a nearby stool that looked like it had spouted an entire sheep. “These places look like magazines. I don’t think I could ever relax.”

“Well, once you move your own stuff in-“

“I don’t got much.”

She sighed, flipping through her list of available units in his price range. “You really want to live in a place full of someone else’s stuff? Isn’t that kind of creepy?”

Bucky scowled. “Is this a real estate service, or therapy? Cuz I already get lip from someone with a Phd twice a week.”

“First off, a licensed professional would never call you ‘creepy’ to your face. They would say you sought one-sided intimacy with strangers because it soothed your fear of rejection to have the other person unaware of this connection.” She typed the next address into her phone before starting down the hall to the stairwell. “Come on, this next one is in a _really_ great neighborhood.”

Unfortunately, Darcy’s definition of “great neighborhood” meant down the road from a nightclub, with half-passed out partiers still wandering down the sidewalk at 11:00am. The next place was right next to an active fire station. And the next had a futon harder than the cots in Iraq.

“Well, I’m about ready to give up.” Darcy leaned up against a nearby parking meter outside the last building and took off her heels. Secretly, Bucky was very impressed that she had lasted so long. They had been treading the pavement and tromping up and down stairs for the past three hours. “You won’t even tell me what you’re _actually_ looking for.”

“I need a place with full furnishing in a quiet neighborhood with no pets.”

“Every place we’ve looked at today has been that _exactly_ -“ she held up a hand as he opened his mouth- “okay- I was just in love with the one by Delirium, and I don’t want to move myself so I let out my love by showing it to all my clients. But the other six were _perfect_! There’s something specific you need, but I can’t help you find it if you won’t tell me what it is.”

Bucky shoved his fist deeper into his pocket. He didn’t’ want to go through a real estate agent in the first place, but Darcy was a friend of a friend of a friend. And really, he liked her. She was just the right balance of relaxed and pushy that he needed. But he had hit his social limit somewhere between apartment number four and hearing about Darcy’s friends’ crazy inlaws.

“It’s nothing. Let’s just finish the list, okay?”

“Well, there’s only one left.” She crumpled up a few more ads and dropped them into a nearby trash can. “And it’s a real bottom of the barrel situation.”

“Bad neighborhood?”

“Not the place itself.” She dug around in her seemingly bottomless bag and finally pulled out a pair of purple house slippers. “The _deal_. Someone who’s out of town indefinitely. So it’s fully furnished, but the lease is month to month.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Darcy sighed as she crammed the slippers onto her feet and started up the road again.

“Yes, it does. Deals like this usually are fine. For awhile. Then the tenant gets lulled into a false sense of security, gets comfortable in their new digs and BAM. Owner comes back from their midlife crisis in Amsterdam and you have two weeks to pack it in and find a new place. It’s inconvenient and heart breaking, _every_ time.”

Bucky shrugged. “Naw. I don’t get comfortable anywhere.”

It was a decent location, actually. A good distance from any club or tourist districts, but not a bad walk to some of the quieter beach stretches. Not that Bucky cared about any of that, but they were very exciting good points to Darcy. But there was a small grocery store two buildings over, and a post box and bus stop on the corner in front of a liquor store. With a little luck, he would only have to leave the block twice a week for his appointments. There was no elevator, but with only three floors, they arrived at the correct unit in no time. Darcy dug around in her folder for what felt like hours. At last, she pulled out the right key and opened the door.

The hall was narrow, a fact not helped by the stacks of boxes lining any space that would not obstruct a door. But once they made it to the living space, Darcy let out a satisfied groan.

“This. _This_ is the one I’m going to leave my boyfriend for.”

Bucky crossed the living room to the open kitchen/dining area. There were appliances everywhere. They looked brand new. Light spilled through large bay windows every few yards against the outer wall. The walls everywhere else were made almost entirely of wood shelving, filled to the brim not just with books, but art supplies still in their packaging. Even cupboards in the dining area held paint brushes sticking out of fired ceramic pots.

“This is like- my grad school daydreams come to _life_.” Darcy had kicked off even her slippers and was twirling around the living room. “I mean- most of these shelves could use finishing. I don’t even think they’re all the same type of wood. But they could be stained or painted. Might be cute in all white. Or black if you were feeling edgy.”

Bucky wandered back to the living room. Darcy had flopped onto an overstuffed couch facing a television that looked like it was made in 1993- complete with built in VHS player. He followed her lead and sat on the other side, moving one of the half dozen colorful throw pillows out of his way.

“Entertainment system is a little out of date.” She propped her bare feet up on a stack of magazines on the coffee table. “And the whole month to month deal is a drag, but it could be a great place to chill while you look for something more permanent.”

Bucky said nothing for a few minutes. Taking this as a negative sign, Darcy sighed.

“Well, I can do some more digging. Or just go through the list with lower standards now that I know you have no taste in interior design. But I-“

“Pretty decent couch.”

Darcy nodded, then looked over at him. “Yeah. It is.”

~

He only had one rolling suitcase to move from the motel, so he barely had to run into any of the new tenants moving into the new place.

“Now, the guy leasing it is _real_ testy about the whole thing, so here’s the list of conditions—“ Darcy handed him a thick packet—“which is _way_ too wordy to actually go through. Jist of it is: don’t be a dick about the old tenant’s stuff. You can read the books, use the kitchen, watch the movies- but don’t use anything that would need replacement, like the paints or sketchbooks. Any damage, you fix it yourself or hire someone out. No change in décor or furniture.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And anyway, don’t worry about it. He didn’t want to meet anyone directly so you probably won’t ever have to deal with the guy. Which seems like a good thing, since he was pretty damn crabby for the half second I talked to him on the phone to get this deal.”

“Any word on what’s up with the weird lease?”

“No, and I _asked_. But level of crabbiness indicates family tragedy.”

Bucky nodded and rolled his suitcase against the wall. “Keys?”

“Manners?” She kept her fist closed and tapped a toe impatiently.

“Can I get the keys to my new place, please?”

She dropped them into his palm and twiddled her fingers. “Great working with you Barnes. Call if you need anything. And I’ll let you know when this place falls through.”

Bucky spent his first night in the new place watching his way through the stack of James Bond VHSs in the TV stand. He was there on the couch for so long, drinking the six pack he’d picked up down the street, that he almost didn’t realize the vaguely uncomfortable feeling he’d been having for the past hour was a full bladder. On the way back from the toilet, he stopped by the fridge for another beer.

Sometimes it took awhile to get comfortable in a new space. But he’d already settled quite firmly into the new apartment. He didn’t listen for breathing in quiet moments, didn’t keep away from windows. He didn’t even clear his corners, which is how he almost ran smack into the woman in the living room.

Living as a civilian for a year already kept Bucky from going into combat mode. But nothing could stop both of them from screaming at a decibel thusfar unrecorded by scientists.

“What are you-“

“Who are-“

“Get out of my-“

“I will call-“ she held out both palms and took a breath. “Listen: please stay calm and don’t do anything you will regret, alright? I do not have much worth stealing, I promise you.”

“What?”

Bucky’s heart was still in his throat, convinced of the imagined mortal threat even as his brain tried to rationalize what was happening. She was foreign. He wasn’t good with accents, but he would guess Slavic if asked.

“Look! Look at my television!” She gestured back at the screen, which was displaying Bond’s latest conquest in a compromising state while she hung from a bit of scaffolding. “I probably got it for free after yard sale season!”

“What- what are you talking about?”

“You won’t get much money for anything here!” She was backing away from him, keeping the couch between them. “I won’t call the police or pursue anything, but you have to leave right _now_!”

“Me? You’re the one who broke into-“

“This is _my_ apartment! I didn’t break into anything!”

Bucky held his palms out and took a breath. His heart was slowing, gradually, but no longer hammering in his temples. “Okay. This sucks. But I think we got scammed.”

“What?” She was edging towards a hefty looking lamp on a side table. “What scam? And who is ‘we’? _We_ are not ‘we.’ _You_ are in _my_ home!”

“No it’s-“ he rushed to go on before her indignation could gain any more momentum. “I’ve heard of this. They took both our deposits and gave us keys.”

“Someone gave you a key?”

“Yes!” Glad she seemed to have stopped considering the lamp, Bucky lowered himself into a tall chair by the counter, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s some rent scam. Must have made copies of the keys and handed them out all at once after the checks all cleared.”

“But that makes no sense!” She hugged her elbows, frowning. “I’ve been here for-“ she halted in the middle of the sentence, her brows drawn together, before going on- “for a _long_ time! Look at all of my things!”

Bucky stared at her, trying to process this. “No- no you haven’t. This place is a sublet. Nothing’s been brought in- it’s pre-furnished. They showed it to me last week.”

“No one showed you this apartment!” She was back to shouting now, unfortunately, gesturing around the space emphatically. Her many bracelets clinked against each other like a windchime during a storm. The sound was setting him on edge again. “I have been living here!”

“So maybe they knew when you’d be out. Hang on- I’ll call the rental agent. I left my phone in the bedroom.”

This was, evidently, not the right thing to say. She bristled like an animal in the wild. Bucky found himself starting to consider the same lamp she had been edging towards several minutes before.

“You’ve been in my bedroom?!”

“I-“

“Stay here! I’m calling the police!”

She turned and stormed down the hall. Bucky hesitated, then followed. Apparently, the woman could move pretty fast, as he didn’t even see her dress whip around the corner of the bedroom doorway. But once he stuck his head inside—cautiously, he hadn’t forgotten the lamp—she was nowhere to be found.

“Hello?” He checked behind the bed and in the closet and bathroom before returning to the main living area. “Um- Miss? Miss Russian?”

He searched every corner, but the apartment was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm mostly just into winterwitch for the angst... but here we are. Things happen. I could have arranged the character backstories to make it darker, but decided against it. Joy. Happiness. Romcoms.  
> Also, as a Hungarian-American, my literal first thought during the paprikash scene in CW (other than "sokovians=hungarians I KNEW IT") was that Vision's dish tasted wrong because he didn't know where to get decent paprika in the US. Common mistake.


	2. Ownership: In Regards to Apartments and Knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback right away! It really does keep me motivated to hear back from people and know that someone out there is interested! Hope you enjoy this week's installment!

She wasn’t stupid. She knew something was wrong. Her head felt floating and stuffed up- like she was sick or dehydrated. And it made sense. She had been busy lately. At least- she thought she had been. That was the other thing. Her mind wasn’t following normal paths of memory. It wasn’t that she was forgetting things, she was just having trouble accessing memories until something triggered the locked space in her brain devoted to that thought or knowledge.

Time was moving wrong too. She would look at the clock one moment- and the next it would be hours and hours later. Even though her heart had been pounding the whole time, it seemed like talking to the stranger in her apartment was the only time that things seemed to move at a realistic pace.

Stress. That was the only explanation.  She knew she had been stressed lately- or, probably always. That seemed more accurate. Long term stress wasn’t good for anyone, and it was only a matter of time before she had a breakdown. Which was probably what this was. Funnily enough, she would have thought it would feel different. More dramatic. She mostly just felt light-headed and achy.

She didn’t call the police, but the intruder weighed on her mind. It seemed like all she could focus on. The rest of her time seemed to melt into a fuzzy cloud of grey compared to the terror and anger of finding a stranger in her own home. She had been living alone for so long that she didn’t even like the maintenance workers coming to fix the plumbing when she wasn’t home. And now there was some homeless man who evidently had a key to her space. She should really call someone about that. She just couldn’t remember where she kept their number. She was really starting to get worried about this whole memory thing.

She had lulled herself into a false sense of security by the time the stranger appeared again. He was sitting on her couch when she stepped into the living room like he did this every day. He even had a book open on his lap, his hand running over the message scribbled on the inside cover.

“Seriously? This is ridiculous!”

He jumped a full inch off the couch cushion, she was sure. Like he was the one who deserved to feel intruded upon. The very thought made her furious.

“Now you are going through my things?”

“When did you-“

“Put that down!” She took a threatening step forward, feeling much more confident in her physical presence this time with him seated.

The man didn’t move from his place, just lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed tight. “I haven’t even been drinking this time…”

“Oh- so does that make it somehow _okay_ that you are squatting in my home?”

“What? No-“ he dropped his hand and stared at her now, blinking hard several times in a row.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to make you go away.”

She snorted. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m a little harder to get rid of. I won’t be scared off by some weird faces!”

She stormed toward the kitchen and felt her heart skip a beat as the scrambling behind her indicated he intended on following. She moved to the other side of the counter, nearest the knives.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to find my phone so I can call the police!” She was tearing around the space, checking every surface. “Or my- my…” she tried not to frown too visibly while her mind slipped and slid over the next word. “Well- someone! Someone who will make you sorry for breaking into my apartment!”

“What, you can’t remember?”

“What?”

“You got stuck there a second.” He said it slowly, sitting at the counter and frowning at her as she continued her search. “Like you couldn’t remember who you would call other than the police.”

She could feel her scowl deepen. “I’m not in the mood to be psycho-analyzed by the criminal in my kitchen!”

“I’m not a criminal!” He threw up his hands, gesturing to the apartment and she froze. “This is my-“

He cut himself off when he caught her expression and the direction of her gaze. He shook out his sleeve impatiently while dropping his left arm back down to his side.

“Look-“

“I’m sorry.”

He blinked at her. She felt her face flush and clenched her fists in the pockets of her sweater.

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes-“ she felt the flush deepen and rolled her eyes to try to distract from her no doubt bright pink face- “haven’t you heard the word before? Have I forgotten my English? Am I saying this wrong?”

He shrugged in an infuriatingly cavalier sort of way. “Well it’s a bit of a mood swing.”

“I can be angry with you for breaking into my apartment and still know that I should apologize for being rude about something you have no control over. I can be angry and a decent person all at once, believe it or not.”

The man shook his head, pushing the derailment aside. “Quit changing the subject, alright? The point is: have you ever thought you might be the delusional one in this conversation?”

She bristled, sucking in a deep breath to steady herself before responding. “What are you talking about?”

“You say you live her, but this place has been shown to sublet for weeks. I haven’t gotten a call from my rental agent, which means the original tenant hasn’t come back. And just now you got stuck tryin to think of who you would call to beat me up if you could find your phone. Which I’ve yet to see you use.”

“So I lose a phone and my train of thought occasionally, big deal!”

“Alright,” the man crossed his arms. “Then who were you going to call?”

She sneered. “Maybe my boyfriend is a wrestler.”

He held up a hand. “Uh-uh- no evading. Who?”

“It doesn’t matter!” She threw up her hands and stormed past him back to the living room. “What matters is that you are a stranger. You are in my home. And I am calling the police!”

“What’s your name?” He shrugged when she only glared at him. “If you’re not the crazy one, tell me who’s place I broke into.”

“Can’t you just steal my mail like a _normal_ stalker?”

“I’m not asking for your alter ego, Batwoman. Just your name. What do your friends call you? Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember my name—“ she took a step closer to the coffee table and the book lying open on it and glanced quickly at the inscription on the inside of the front cover: _Wanda, thank you so much for_ —“It’s Wanda, okay? Are you happy?”

“You had to read that.” He gestured down at the book and she refused to look at our again, as if that would help. “You didn’t _know_ it.”

“I think I know my own-“

“Look, I don’t know how- maybe you hit your head or had a bad trip or something- but you’re confused. Why don’t we call the police station and figure out where you come from, okay?”

“Oh, we _will_ call the police, and they _will_ remove the confused person from _my_ apartment!”

She was out of patience. Wanda turned on her heel and stormed towards the bedroom once more. She heard him scramble to his feet to follow, but stub his toe on the coffee table. He swore loudly, but was clearly still trying to follow. But he was too late.

~

“So… I’m seeing someone.”

If it had been in any other situation, Bucky would have been happy to see the broad grin spread across Steve’s face. He was getting tired of the concerned frown.

“That’s great! Anyone I know?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Not- no. It’s not- I’m seeing her, but no one else can.”

There was the frown, back in place over Steve’s burger where it had stopped halfway to his mouth.

“Possessiveness isn’t really your style, Buck. What’s going on?”

“No- I—“ he didn’t usually have this much trouble talking to Steve. Only when he didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did. “I’m seeing her and she’s- she’s not… there.”

Steve’s chewing slowed and the look Bucky liked even less than worry was back. The guilty eyes.

“Buck, you talked to-“

“No. Haven’t had an appointment since she… since she showed up. I’m tellin _you_. Right now.”

Steve considered him a moment, leaned back in his seat. “And I appreciate that, I do. But I’m not the one qualified to help you with that kind of-“

“I- I don’t _know_ that therapist, not really.”

“I know it’s hard to talk about this with someone you’re paying to see, but that’s why I keep saying I want you and Sam to meet. Happy medium, right? A friend with a psychology degree.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know him either, so it’s going to be just as bad with him.”

Steve sighed. “Just join our running group. Don’t talk if you don’t want. Or do. It’s at least better than sitting in an office.”

Bucky shrugged. He ate a few fries and waited for Steve to work his way through the suggestion. Their conversations didn’t used to be like this. Bucky knew he used to be different. The problem was, he didn’t know how to return to the effortless friendship of their younger years, or even the somewhat manic loyalty of brothers in arms from the service. Now, all he seemed to know how to do was shift under Steve’s unbearable compassion and clear his throat.

“I’ll try to make it sometime. And I _am_ gunna tell the therapist I’m seeing stuff, okay?”

This was the right thing to say, because Steve grinned. It was a small, closed lip thing, more worry than real happiness, but Bucky had to take what he could get these days.

“That’s good. So…” he leaned in closer. “This woman you see- she pretty?”

He was teasing- trying to make this something they could laugh about one day. Bucky was grateful.

“Not real, buddy, not real.”

“Yeah, okay. So what does she do? Say?”

“She’s mad at me. She thinks it’s her place and I’m homeless and broke in.”

“Just the one time or-“

“Twice. Once on Monday, then again last night.”

“Sounds like a ghost story.” Steve’s mouth was behind his glass, making it hard to read his expression.

“Yeah, and she’s foreign. Probably Russian? And she wears about fifty rings and-“ he felt his face growing hot and shook his head—“I just don’t know where my head’s getting all these details from. Wish it would focus on _real_ stuff this good.”

“Well, maybe your head wouldn’t come up with imaginary Russian women if you let me set you up with my buddy Nat.”

“Come on, no. It’s not like that. If it was, she’d be Marilyn in the white one-piece.”

“Fair enough.”

He googled the nearest spirituality shop on his way home from lunch. Bucky knew he was reaching new levels of paranoia, but he didn’t want to do it at home and risk the woman finding out. He was mostly sure she was a delusion of his mind’s own making, but Steve’s words about a “ghost story” stuck in his head and wouldn’t leave. And it had always helped him to have a set task to get out of his own head in times like these.

Moonchild Emporium wasn’t actually that far from the apartment. He would have thought a cranky crystal shop would do better closer to the tourist areas, but it seemed well off enough to warrant a new paint job. The wood front and window frames were painted a deep, flashy red with black and metallic bronze lettering declaring the name and subheading: Candles, Herbs, Crystals, Books and Readings.

“Welcome to Moonchild.”

The man behind the counter was nothing like Bucky had expected. He had been braced for some stale smelling hippie, not a guy in khakis with a military buzz and gap between his teeth as he offered a quick smile.

“Can I help you find something?”

Bucky realized he’d been staring and dropped his gaze, shaking out his sleeve. The man stood like a soldier and sometimes real understanding was worse than civilian sympathy. He shook his head and slumped towards the back of the displays.

“Cool. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

“Sure.”

Thankfully, it seemed that the more aesthetically pleasing displays of trinkets and potions were cheated towards the front of the shop while the books lined the back alcoves and cubbies. Bucky tucked himself between the shelves and started looking. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, now that he was here. What had he expected? Some manual labeled “How to Expel Foreign Dead Women From Your Living Room in Three Easy Steps”? He skipped past the UFO and folklore sections, slowing down around auras, then stopping at the shelf with the little laminated “Spirits, Ghosts and Revenants” scrap of paper. He was so engrossed in the perplexingly vague titles that he didn’t notice anyone was near him until something tugged on his left sleeve.

Maybe he was too tired to be startled, because Bucky only blinked down at the round blue eyes fixed on his face. The little girl said nothing for a moment. She could only be two or three years old and looked like she had done her hair herself- tiny braids cutting through the blond waves in no particular pattern.

“Knee-knee.”

Bucky probably shouldn’t be trying so hard to process such a small child’s nonsense.

“What?”

She started jabbering away and he wasn’t quite sure if it was another language or just the indecipherable babytalk of small children that only parents and siblings understood. All he could pick out of the mess was the repeated “knee-knee.” She poked his leg a few times as her monologue wound down.

“That one’s mine, Kid.”

“My knee-knee.”

“I kinda need it.”

“There you are—“ the man from the counter poked his head around the shelving—“can we let this nice guy look at the books? I’m thinkin you could use a snack about now.”

He shot Bucky an apologetic look and took the girl’s hand, leading her to the counter wo choruses of; “knee-knee! My knee-knee!”

“I know, Lulu, I know.”

Bucky made his way through the rest of the books in no time at all. Horribly enough, _Moving On: Accepting One’s Own Passage Into the Ether_ seemed to be his best bet. He took it to the counter, staring determinedly at the glass case so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the girl swinging her legs on a stool, pudding cup in hand, or the offensively normal man dressed like he was going to take his mother to church later.

“Just this.”

“Alright.” The man’s hands paused on the book as he rang it up. “Uh… you know this isn’t a self-help book, right?”

Bucky nodded. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He should have just looked this stuff up online.

“Alright, just wanted to make sure. Like if you were sick and looking for help coping or something, the title might be confusing. But it’s not about that. It’s about hauntings and stuff like that.”

A nightmare of a conversation, that’s what this was. Bucky peeled some greasy bills from his wallet apart and pushed them across the counter.

“I read the back.”

“Cool, cool. So you got sage and everything at home already?” When Bucky only glanced up at him, the man gestured to the book’s cover. “Book like this is probably going to start you out with some basic cleansing procedures. So, you have that kind of thing at home already?”

When Bucky shook his head, he gave a quick, tight smile and stepped out from behind the counter, gathering things here and there as he went. Bucky waited where he was, regretting ever leaving the apartment in the first place. The little girl was staring at him, but at least she had stopped claiming his knee as her own. He hunched his shoulders as the bell above the door rang.

“Changing of the guard—“ the new man declared as he stepped through and clapped the other man on the shoulder—“You two doin alright?”

“Yeah. Thought he was supposed to be back by now though.”

As if on cue, the phone behind the counter let out a shrill ring and Bucky tried not to jump. The girl on the stool hopped down and toddled off to a back room.

“I got the phone, Sam.” The new man squeezed past Bucky to the telephone. “Hello? Oh hey, we were just wondering-“

Bucky suppressed a groan. At this rate, he’d never get out of here.

“There you go,” the man in the Easter Sunday getup was back with a collection of items. “Ghost removal starter pack.”

“Great.”

“Shit…” The new man, equally guilty in being too normal in his jeans and flannel, hung up the phone. “He decked a doctor.”

Bucky was never going to get out of here, as the first man now looked up and ignored him and the register completely.

“He _what_?”

“They tried to get him to sign papers.” The shorter man ran a hand down his face. “Seems kinda early for-“

“Clint…” the first man lowered his voice in a way that made Bucky try not to hear the rest, even though they were standing too close. “It’s been three months.”

“Clint” looked annoyed, but glanced at Bucky before saying anything.

“They’re not pressing charges. I’ll pick him up from holding. Can you hold down the fort a little longer?”

“Sure.”

Clint left and the original flavor normal shook his head as he finally returned to the transaction.

“Sorry about that. Your change—“ he passed a few small bills, then the bag—“and good luck busting that ghost.”

“Yeah… Thanks.”


	3. Socializing: In Regards to Appointments and Annoyances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry I IMMEDIATELY dropped off the face of the earth.  
> Also, I did a little editing in the last chapter so if you think you've caught me making a mistake in the logic of this story... you're right. But it's all fixed now. Carry on with your lives citizens!

Wanda wasn’t even surprised the third time she saw the stranger. Or scared. He didn’t seem aggressive. And she’d always been partial to an anger response rather than fear when threatened.

This time he wasn’t even relaxing, but lighting a smudge stick on the couch. She watched him for a few moments. He hadn’t noticed her yet. He held the bowl with the stick in his false hand. He seemed clearly uncomfortable using it, though it was clearly a state of the art robotic model with flexing plexi fingers. It seemed capable of everything his flesh hand was, but his movements were stiff and overly careful- like a child told they would be in trouble if they broke something at a relative’s house. He got off the couch as he blew the stick out and the smoke started to curl, making his way to the window.

“It’s the door.”

Again he jumped, whipping around to see her and almost dropping the bowl.

“Wha-“

“You must start on the _left_ side of the _door_.” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. “If you are going to cleanse my home, you might as well do it _right_.”

He blinked, then set the bowl down on the coffee table and put his palms out.

“Hi. I’m… I’m Bucky.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to open an amicable dialogue.”

She snorted. He could not be serious. “What? Is this a negotiation tactic?”

“No, just general politeness. You seem to understand that- you apologized for gasping at my bum arm. Even when you were hoppin mad.”

She scowled, but didn’t argue. “Well, what kind of a name is ‘Bucky’ anyway?”

He winced. “James Buchanan Barnes. Parents were history geeks.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, _Bucky_ , but I don’t see how any of this is relevant.”

He held her gaze for a few moments. “Do you remember anything… _traumatic_ happening recently?”

She could not believe this. What was he trying to accomplish? He was looking at her like he expected something different than what he was getting and was waiting for the real conversation to kick in. Well, he was going to be waiting for a long time. She could barely see straight she was still so angry, even if the shock of their other meetings had worn off.

“Well, I could do with some therapy after finding a _stranger_ has found his way into my _home_ no less than _three times_!”

He looked annoyed by this. But he took another breath and tried again. “Try earlier. Think… accidents, illness, _that_ sort of thing.”

Wanda liked to think of herself as a patient person. Not everyone might agree, but she was. But she honestly had never felt so close to forcibly hitting someone out of annoyance before. She could feel her teeth ache under the force of her clenched jaw and her head was starting to pound.

“What are you getting at?”

“I’ve…” he started slowly, watching her face like he was waiting for her to pick up on something he already knew about. “I’ve never seen you touch anything.”

Wanda was sure there was no amount of divinely granted patience that would allow a living human to put up with this. “What?”

“Just- humor me a second, would you? Try picking something up.”

She glared, but crossed to the couch and reached for one of her favorite pillows, pausing before she touched it.

“If I do this, will you leave?”

He met her gaze evenly and nodded. Wanda didn’t know what his motivation was, or why she should trust this negotiation at all, but if it really was that easy to get rid of him, she had to at least humor the notion.

If she hadn’t been looking directly at the pillow, Wanda wouldn’t have believed it. But there was no denying that her hand passed through the plush red velvet. Numb, her brain completely unable to process this, she tried again. A different pillow, the remote- even the tray of candles on the coffee table- none of it was solid enough to touch.

“What have you done to my things!?”

“How could I-“

“Why can’t I-“

“Because you’re _dead_!” He was shouting now and Wanda tried not to take a step back. “ _Deceased_! A _ghos_ t! A _poltergeist_ haunting _my_ apartment!”

“How dare-“

Wanda couldn’t even form words. She’d never been more angry in her whole life. Her jaw felt stuck in a forward jut and her head was pounding. Without really deciding to, she strode forward and shoved at his chest. It would have only been a bizarre moment of embarrassment, if he hadn’t been standing in front of the window. Just like with the pillow, she felt nothing at all as she passed through the man and then the glass. But she did feel the awful swooping of a real fall. Wanda screamed. Even though this wasn’t real. It wasn’t real because when she took a breath and opened her eyes, she was on her feet in the living room again, staring at the man’s back as he peered out the window to the street below.

“Rest in peace, Wanda the Russian.”

“I’m not Russian!”

He jumped and spun around. “Jesus-“

“This is stupid- I’m dreaming.” She strode toward the bedroom. “I’m going to bed! You better not be here when I-“

“You can’t go to bed, _I_ need to sleep somewhere!”

He managed to follow her down the hall this time. Wanda automatically moved to slam the door in his face, but her hand, of course, passed through the knob. Silently cursing herself, she crossed to the bedside and planted her feet wide.

“It’s _my_ bed and you are _not_ sleeping in it!”

“Ghosts don’t need to sleep-“

“I’m not-“ she turned to the bed, but stopped, her eye catching on the nightstand. Instead of hot anger, her stomach dropped and she was washed in cold apprehension. “What did you do to my picture?”

“Your wh-“

“My picture! It was—“ there it was again. That slippery place in her mind that she lost things in. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was, but the loss of it was making her feel a suffocating panic—“It’s _my_ picture and you _stole_ it!”

“Why would I steal-“

“I don’t _know_!” She refused to cry in front of him and bit the inside of her cheek to keep this new overwhelming and sourceless fear in check. “But I am not leaving until you give it back!”

~

The next twenty-four hours were some of the strangest Bucky had ever spent. No matter what he did or where he went, the woman, Wanda, followed, making herself as inconvenient and irritating as possible. He supposed he could leave the apartment, but now that she was no longer disappearing, he was scared to find out if she could follow him outside of the building.

She read off the nutrition facts on anything he ate. She followed him around no matter where in the apartment he went. She even walked straight through the bathroom door when he turned the shower on. Refusing to change his routine, Bucky only scowled at her and left his boxers on while he bathed and she stood in the corner by the toilet, reciting what sounded like an epic poem in a language he did not recognize. Once he sat down to watch a few movies, she started to sing. She had a terrible singing voice. It was weak and warbling, and she forced it to go lower, higher, and much louder than her natural range.

_“Tell them howwwwww IIIIIIIIII am defffffyyyyyying gravityyyy. I’m flyinnnggggg hiiiiiighhhhh! Defyyyyinnnngggg gravity!”_

Bucky turned up the television, hoping to drown out the woman lying on the coffee table, gesturing dramatically with her arms and even kicking her legs into the air in front of the screen.

 _“So if you care to find meeeee!!!!”_ She gave up on any sense of melody and only shouted in a grating monotone. _“Look to the westerrrrnnn skyyyyy!_ _As someone told me lately-“_

“Alright fine!” Bucky snatched up the remote and clicked the power button. “No TV! That what you want?”

She watched him as he searched around for something to do. He picked up the cookbook from the day before and flipped it open. He stared at the message on the inside again. _Wanda, thank you so much for your beautiful work in the nursery. She is going to love it. XOXO Crystal_. It was the only real clue as to who his ghost had been in life, but it wasn’t much.

_“Oh. Well imagine. As I’m pacing-“_

“Alright- that’s it!”

Bucky didn’t know where to look for this kind of help, but with a few quick google searches, he had a start. He wasn’t too excited about the prospect of inviting other people to the apartment, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“The power of Christ compels you!”     

Bucky wasn’t sure he should interrupt, but the portly old Catholic priest was focused so completely on the living room and dousing it with holy water that Bucky hadn’t been able to point him to where Wanda was sitting on the kitchen counter, fuming.

“The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!”

“I’m fucking Jewish!”

Bucky cringed. “Um- I’m sorry, Father. But she’s fu- I mean- do you know a rabbi that does this sort of thing?”

There was not a single religious leader or paranormal investigator who knew what to do. None of them could even see Wanda, let alone have any effect whatsoever on her. He tried the list of rituals in the book he had bought, but nothing seemed to have any effect except to annoy her further.

“You are doing it wrong!” She seemed to say little else now. “Why are you so terrible at this?”

“I’m doing what the book says!” He dropped the volume from the herb shop down on the counter and tossed the still smoking smudge stick into the sink.

“No, you are _not_ \- and even if you were it would not work because I am _not_ dead!”

“Yeah?” Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the cabinets. “So what is your explanation for your little touchy-feely problem?”

She just glared. “Maybe I am not really _here_ , but I am _not_ dead!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means stop telling me I’m dead!” She actually stamped her foot in anger. Like in the cartoons. “It means leave me _alone_!”

“Not a chance!”

It was finally Thursday morning. He had been putting off thinking about his appointments since she showed up, but there was no putting it off when both the therapist and prosthetic technician would be waiting for in at the hospital in two hours. Wanda watched him while he shaved and actually combed his hair.

“What- do you have a date or something?” He should probably be offended by how derisive and flippant she sounded. Like it wasn’t a real possibility.

“Lay off, alright? I gotta go out today.”

She frowned at him in the bathroom mirror, her brows drawn together as she watched him rinse the razor.

“Do you even work? You never leave this place. What do you do? Sit on your ass for a living?”

“Yeah, but I gotta go see my therapist before my imaginary friend drives me to murder.”

She scowled. “We are not _friends_.”

Refusing to get angry that _that_ was the part of his sentence she took issue with, he washed his face and pulled on a fresh shirt.

“What am I supposed to do all day?”

Bucky was almost too busy being relieved that she didn’t seem to consider following him to notice the note of underlying tension in her tone. If he didn’t know any better, he might have called it anxiety.

“What?” He turned to face her, feeling just a little smug for picking up on something she would doubtlessly try to hide. “Scared of bein alone?”

Bucky was always telling Steve that he got himself into unnecessary confrontations. But he was never good at practicing what he preached. He knew this was one of those cases when Wanda’s lips went pure white and he swore for just a second, her eyes went red.

“Are you scared I might follow you?”

He should learn when to keep his mouth shut.

~

Part of her was nervous as Bucky gathered his keys and headed out the door. But it seemed her hunch was right after all. She was able to follow Bucky down the stairs and out the door of the apartment building. He did not seem to share her relief.

“Ain’t ghosts supposed to be tied to a place?”

“I wouldn’t know, since I am not one.” She purposefully steered herself in the path of other people on the sidewalk, but they neither saw her, nor served as an obstacle, as she moved through them just as she did everything else.

“Oh come-“ he clearly only remembered to lower his voice once the group of shoppers a few yards away glanced up at him. He continued at a low mutter—“Come on. You walk through walls. I’m the only one that can see you. You can’t even remember anyone you know.” He glanced at her loose black dress and ripped stockings. “You look like you escaped from a Nirvana concert. Maybe you died in the 90s.”

“I didn’t _die_ ,” she grumbled, crossing her arms as they walked. “And I have a cellphone. A _smartphone_. I’m not from any other time.”

“So we have a better chance of finding out who you were-“

“Am!” She wished she could actually make contact with him so she could hit his arm every time he claimed she was dead. “Who I _am_! So maybe I have amnesia or something, but I am alive!”

She followed him onto a trolley and to a seat in the back corner.

“Where are we going?”

He groaned softly, but said nothing when other people were so near. She didn’t expect an answer, but she knew the constant chatter while he was trying to act normal would annoy him.

Wanda tried to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach as they stepped into the hospital. It was uncomfortable and something told her, far too personal for her to acknowledge just now. Thankfully, it seemed to fade as they made their way into the recovery and physical therapy ward.

“I hate hospitals.”

“You’re welcome to leave.” The hall they were currently striding down was empty, so he was finally biting back again.

“No. This is going to be your entire life until you leave my apartment!”

She followed him down the hall and into the therapist’s office.

“Doc.”

“Mr. Barnes, have a seat.” The man behind the desk was curly-haired and unassuming. “How have you been?”

“Alright.”

Bucky was clearly trying very hard not to look at her. Wanda chewed her tongue. She hated herself for even _thinking_ of what she was about to do.

“Fine. Clearly, you _need_ this therapy and so who am I to get in the way of your mental health, so…” she sighed heavily. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

He seemed so surprised that he actually turned to look at her. Wanda raised her eyebrows at him and jerked her head at the psychiatrist, who was frowning thoughtfully across the desk at him.

“Oh- uh- sorry, Dr. Banner.”

Wanda stepped straight through the door and stood in the hallway, tapping her foot. She always hated hospitals. They felt like fear and desperation. She must have spent some time in one, she was sure. That’s why she had been so hot and nauseous when they first walked in. And why she felt a strong, visceral dislike for the man nearest her with a white coat, wired rimmed glasses, and a clearly broken nose.

“Dr. Strucker? They need you down in long-term care.”

“Great. Someone else wants to hit me, I presume?”

“Think of it as a challenge to improve your bedside manner, Doctor.”

The man that was causing her lip to curl just by standing around reading a chart sighed and strode off down the way they had come. Wanda considered following, just for something to do. But she was fairly certain she couldn’t leave Bucky more than a few paces and didn’t feel ready to find out what would happen if she tried.

At last, the door behind her opened and Bucky stepped out, looking disappointed, but unsurprised to find her waiting.

“I know it’s a big step for you to talk about this. I don’t want to betray that trust. I’ll just talk to the pharmacist and have them lower the dose. There is a high probability that this new development is a side effect of your current medication.”

“Alright, doc. See you in a few days.”

Wanda didn’t say anything as she followed Bucky down a few more halls and up another floor. He kept glancing at her, clearly waiting for her to say something. But Wanda felt tired and miserable. She hugged her sweater around herself and kept her eyes down.

“This a new strategy?” He muttered when they were alone in the elevator. “Gotta say, giving me the silent treatment might not work as a threat, since it’s exactly what I want.”

“I just want to go home.”

He frowned at her, but was soon distracted by the reception desk in the next area of the hospital.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh- hi- yeah. Here for my appointment? Barnes, James.”

Wanda chewed a hangnail while a med student ran tests on Bucky’s false arm. Normally, she might have been fascinated by the technology. But she was feeling sick and miserable and far too sorry for herself to care about learning something new. She watched, half unseeing, as a technician used his tools to pull back the plexi plating on Bucky’s arm and make tiny, fine tune adjustments to the mechanics underneath. Bucky kept glancing at her, but she didn’t have the energy to scowl, let alone berate and annoy him.

Wanda barely registered as the tune up was completed and Bucky filled out a long questionnaire in under five minutes. Neither of them said anything, not even as they left the hospital and took the bus back to the apartment.

“Okay,” he was looking at her oddly, his brows drawn together. “I take it back. The silent treatment is unnerving. What’s your game?”

Wanda sat on the couch and stared off at the wall, completely unseeing.

“What if you’re right?” She swallowed and tried to deny the pricking at the corners of her eyes. “What if I… died?”

There was a long stretch of silence before Bucky sighed and crossed to sit on the other side of the couch.

“Look- I’m sorry I said you’re dead. Maybe you’re not dead. Maybe you’re just… naturally pale and tragic looking.”

Wanda sniffed and blinked hard a few times before speaking again. “But- but why can’t I remember anything about my life?”

“Well, maybe you need to have your memory jogged and learn some kind of lesson before you… you know- move on.”

Move on. Wanda was far from ready for that kind of talk.

“I need to…” she kept sticking on the same feeling, but it slid out of her grasp every time she tried to focus on it. It was something like loneliness, but worse. “I need to find out who I was.”


	4. A Full Schedule: In Regards to Sleep and Jogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support!

“Hey, Darcy? Yeah, it’s Barnes.”

“Oh no- something wrong?”

“Ah- no-“ he’d thought the rental agent was their best bet for the start, but now that he had his phone on speaker, Wanda pacing around watching him, he wasn’t sure what to say. “Th- the apartment’s great. I just- I was going through that list of rules and had some questions. There any way I could get the contact info of the person handling the renting?”

“Oh- no can do, Barnes. Guy didn’t want any contact.”

“Oh. But uh… what can you tell me? I mean- about the old tenant?”

Wanda was making a rolling gesture with one hand, her eyebrows raised. Bucky stammered for a moment, trying to think of something else to prompt more info.

“I- I mean- uh-“ he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “I- I guess I’m just… curious. Thought if I knew more, might help me plan for when they eventually come back and kick me out.”

“Sorry, man. I mean- it’s a woman? I think? But I have no idea who she is or when/if she’ll be back.”

He thanked her and hung up while Wanda chewed her nail.

“Okay- so dead end there. What’s…” His eye fell on the cookbook, still lying on the coffee table. He picked it up and opened it to the message on the inside.

“Crystal.” He looked up and watched her as she said it, but she only frowned. “You know someone named Crystal.”

Wanda shrugged. “I must. What does it say? Something about a nursery, right?”

She sat on the couch next to him and looked at the message. Bucky watched her frown, hoping it would flicker in recognition.

“Beautiful work…” She muttered, hovering her hands over the inscription. “So I decorated a room for this ‘Crystal’s’ daughter? And she gave me a cookbook? Very suburban, very polite. The XO’s make it sound very personal. But a cookbook is sort of a lame gift, don’t you think?”

“You might be reading too much into it.”

She sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Maybe. But maybe we can find her.”

“Maybe…” Bucky got up and took a stack of books from the shelf, bringing them to the table. “I’m going to make a cup of coffee, you want-“ he winced at her glare. “Sorry.”

They looked through every book on the shelf. There were a lot. But none of them had any other messages, and none of the titles or images jogged Wanda’s memory.

“Okay-“ he rubbed his hands down his face. “Okay, so nothing seems familiar about your books. That’s fine. You have art supplies though. Did you paint? Where’s your finished stuff?”

“I don’t know…” she got up and chewed her thumbnail as she stalked back and forth in front of the shelves of paint and brushes. “These look brand new. Maybe they were gifts? Maybe I don’t paint and someone bought all this for me?”

“Kind of a lot for a gift.” He watched her pace, her agitated, but wandering steps creating a pattern amongst the stacks of books they had pulled down. Her hands never stopped moving. Her wrists rotated, and when her wrists didn’t rotate, her fingers twitched. “Will you sit down- you’re making me nervous.”

She stood still and returned to gnawing her nail. “There must be more personal items. Hidden away- like my picture.”

“Yes!” Bucky clapped his hands and sat up straighter. “Yes- that’s- that’s good, isn’t it? There has to be more of your things somewhere. If your family or even the government had to rent out your place, they would have to put away your stuff, right? Bank statements, your clothes.”

“Exactly!” She shook her hands at him, but this time in excitement rather than frustration. “There has to be boxes, right? In a closet, or- or-“

Bucky’s heart sank. “Or a storage unit?”

She cursed violently, like when he brought the priest. She flopped back down onto the couch next to him. Bucky stared across the room at the clock on the wall. It was nearing three in the morning.

“Listen- I’m up for helping you out all I can, but I need some sleep.”

“Oh-“ she blinked at him, clearly having forgotten about such things. “Yes, of course.”

He got up and wandered towards the hall. Bucky looked back to see her staring at the coffee table, unable to flip through any of the books on her own.

“Goodnight.”

She looked up, surprised. “Yes. Goodnight, Barnes.”

It felt almost too empty in the bedroom now that she wasn’t trying to drive him insane with her railing and singing. Bucky even kept glancing over his shoulder as he brushed his teeth and changed, half expecting her to decide he did not deserve peace until they found her own quiet rest.

He felt like he was asleep for five minutes when the unmistakable, and now all too familiar feeling of being watched woke him. He blinked his eyes open and didn’t jump when he was met with the sight of Wanda sitting on his floor, staring at him.

“I found Crystal.”

~

She hadn’t known what to do when Bucky went to bed. The night before, she had devoted herself completely to keeping him awake. But now they were on more amicable terms, she didn’t know how to fill her time. She tried meditating. Unfortunately, her state of mind had been so close to meditation recently, it did not last long. She wandered around the apartment, willing something in the small space to click and help her find purchase in her loose, slippery mind. But there was nothing. Nothing that sounded even remotely familiar. She even stuck her head through the closet doors. Once she had the idea, she tried it with other spaces. She was about to give up when the inside of the pantry door finally yielded ruselts.

“Bucky!” She snatched at the post it before remembering she couldn’t touch anything. “Shit- Bucky! Mr. Barnes!”

She raced through the apartment and through the door to the bedroom, falling to the carpet at the bedside and waving her hands wildly at him.

“Oh come on- wake up!”

At last he blinked his eyes open at her. Wanda blamed her excitement over the new development for her giddy smile.

“I found Crystal.”

He blinked a few more times before sitting up.

“You found-“ he ran a hand down his face and tried to stifle a yawn. “Great. Yeah- what-“

“Get up-“ she tried not to wring her hands too much. “It’s in the pantry. There’s an address, but no phone number.”

She tried not to be too impatient as he only stared at her, then checked his phone.

“Listen- it’s three in the morning.” He yawned and didn’t try to cover it this time. “It’s just an address, right? Let’s set an alarm and start out first thing in the morning, okay?”

Wanda blinked as he laid back down and pulled her comforter over his shoulder.

“But-“

“You wanna go beat down this woman’s door _before_ the asscrack of dawn and rush in without a plan?”

Wanda tried to fight her frown. He was right. But right now she was far too embarrassed with her over enthusiasm to let him know it.

“Well, I suppose not. If you don’t want to help me…”

He groaned and rolled face down, his words muffled by the pillow. _Her_ pillow.

“Why don’t you think of a plan of what we’re going to say to her while I sleep for a few hours, okay? So I don’t look like a lunatic when we finally go to talk to her.”

Wanda scowled, but nodded. “Fine. Get your sleep, Princess. I will do all the work.”

In all fairness, he got up a few hours later, though he only held up a hand when she tried to speak. She rolled her eyes as he shuffled around making coffee before he would hear a word.

“Okay. What’s the plan, Ghost World?”

Wanda ignored the jibe and sat next to him on the couch while he sipped his morning brew.

“So- the note says something about a beautiful nursery, right? So you knock on her door and say a friend of a friend suggested the same decorator. You don’t have my contact information, but only her address. So you came to see the work and maybe get my number from her if you like it.”

She didn’t like how he wasn’t showing any kind of excitement at the prospect of their new lead. Bucky only sat and continued to sip his coffee, so she went on.

“The address is on a post-it note on the inside of the pantry door. She lives in Noe Valley. If we leave now, we can get there before people leave for work.”

“Um- don’t you think that most people wouldn’t want a stranger showing up at their door before work? It’s Friday. Who knows when she wakes up? Or when she leaves the house?”

“So? We try now and if she’s not around, we’ll wait for her.”

“How’s that gunna look, huh? Some scruffy combat vet hanging around Noe Valley stalking a young mom?”

“Then what else are we supposed to do?”

Bucky shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve been meaning to meet my buddy Steve to join his jogging group.”

Wanda stared at him, her face growing hot. He was right. She knew he was right. But the thought of being alone again terrified her.

“Fine! Let’s meet Steve. I’m sure he will _love_ me.”

~

Bucky didn’t really know what he expected, after the day before. But the night had gone on so well between the two of them, he had fallen into some level of ease, and expected her to feel the same. But in all this he had forgotten her stubborn refusal to behave reasonably.

He dressed and shaved again, just because he knew it would make Steve happy to see him put together. Wanda followed him, but didn’t speak or recite, or sing, only glared all the way to the park where Steve said he and his friends met every morning. It was almost worse, waiting for whatever annoyances she had planned.

“Bucky!”

It was almost worth the impending drama, just to see how pleased Steve was to see him. Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to pretend he’d forgotten about the woman at his elbow.

“Hey Steve.”

“Glad you could finally make it.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sleep so good.”

“We’ll be sure to wear you out so you can just conk out right when you get home.”

“Steve is boring.”

Bucky tried to ignore Wanda, but she was deliberately standing close enough that if she had been solid, they would brush arms with every movement.

“So… you get here before everyone else? Or are those friends you’re always talking about actually park squirrels?”

“I do a lap before anyone else shows up.”

Bucky was about to make a jab at Steve’s over-achiever nature when the strangest sensation took him over. He looked around for Wanda, and just as he realized she was gone, nearly dislocated his neck as his head was whipped back around against his will. Steve raised his eyebrows in confusion as Bucky’s whole body jerked awkwardly.

“It is disgusting in here.” Wanda’s voice seemed to be coming from behind his eyes.

“Oh shit.”

“You okay, Buck?”

Very aware that Steve was staring at him in concern, Bucky grit his teeth and fought against the pull at his limbs from inside.

“Yeah, just- Charlie horse-“ he fought as Wanda tried to force his legs to do some kind of kick dance. “Go ahead. I’m gunna- gunna stretch this out.”

Steve continued to give him a strange look. “Okay… you sure?”

“Yeah. Totally sure.” He dropped his legs into an unstable lunge as Wanda made his arms flap and windmill like a cartoon character. “Just- just warming up. I’m real out of shape- don’t wanna- you know- pull something.”

“Okay- see you in a few…”

Bucky waited for Steve to make it a few yards down the path and stick his earbuds in before throwing himself down in the grass.

“What the hell are you doing?” There was no one nearby, but he still growled out the words between his teeth. “I thought-“

“I thought you were going to help me!” She forced his leg to kick up into the air. “But I guess this is just how things are going to be for awhile!”

Bucky groaned. “I _am_ going to help you. I’m just not about to beat down a stranger’s door at 7am with no plan. We’ll go around dinner time. Now can you maybe… get _out_?”

A noise of distaste filled his head and his ears popped. He blinked and suddenly Wanda was standing over him, glaring. He relaxed his muscles hesitantly, but it seemed he had full control of his body once more.

“Fine!” She looked furious, but her chin was trembling. “Just- fine! Go and have fun with your friends! See if I care!”

Bucky tried not to feel guilty as she turned on her heel and started off down the path the way they had come. He got up and stretched for real to give himself something to do. He had nothing to feel guilty for. He hadn’t promised her anything. And anyway, he would help her soon enough. It was just half a day’s delay, that was all.

“Hey- don’t I know you?”

Bucky jumped and almost fell into a combat stance at the voice behind him. He managed to turn with a measure of dignity and raise his eyebrows at the man stretching his shoulders near the park’s drinking fountain. He frowned a moment before recognizing him as one of the men from the spirituality shop.

“Uh- no. Don’t- don’t think so.”

The man from the shop shrugged and grabbed his ankle to stretch his leg. “I’ll think of it. It’s not a PTA thing, is it? My wife usually handles that, but sometimes I fill in and then I meet all these people whose names I can’t ever remember. Or- have I arrested you before?”

“Um-“ Bucky didn’t know what to say to this, so he shook his head. “Don’t think so- sorry.”

The man looked about to say something else, but he raised his pinkies to his mouth, his eyes fixed on something behind Bucky, and whistled, sharply.

“Wilson! You’re late. Lunch is on you.”

“No way, you never paid last time.”

Bucky turned and ducked his head, wondering if there was some kind of cosmic conspiracy at hand. Some sort of messed up plan to make sure he was as humiliated as possible in every aspect of his life. The newest man in the park was definitely the cashier from Moonchild. The one with the Easter Sunday outfits and gap-toothed smiles. And Bucky had now decided that he was _definitely_ the cheerful face of pure evil.

“Fair, fair.”

“Hey-“ the cashier was giving Bucky the same look. “Don’t I-“

But Bucky was already shaking his head. He was glad he’d showered and shaved. He probably looked sufficiently changed that they might not ever recognize him.

“Okay- it’s not just me then. You go to Coulson’s to drink? If we both know you-“

“Ghostbuster!”

Bucky’s heart sank as the man with the gap in his smile snapped his fingers.

“Oh yeah! From the shop!”

“I- I don’t-“

“Alright- you guys making nice already?”

Bucky’s heart sank as his understanding finally caught up with the situation at the sound of Steve’s voice behind him.

“Huh?”

“Oh come on- I gotta do all the work?” Steve grinned as he slapped Bucky on the back. “Clint, Sam, this is my best friend since diapers, Bucky. Buck, Clint and Sam are my running group. Or- most of it.”

“Oh no way!” the shorter man grinned and stuck out a hand, shaking Bucky’s right with more vigor than he personally cared for this early in the morning. “Steve’s been saying you might come with us one of these days. I’m Clint.”

“Sam.” The gap-toothed one grinned broadly as he shook his hand next. “What are the odds, huh?”

Steve looked between the three of them, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh- Bucky came into the-“ Clint caught the panicked look on his face a moment too late. “Into… the… station. Yeah. Sam was there too. And uh- this guy lost his wallet, which was why he was there.”

Steve clearly didn’t believe this, but after a look between all three of them, he smiled anyway.

“Well then it’s fate, right?”

“We gunna stand around all day or get moving?” Sam clapped his hands and cracked his neck. “Today’s the day I’m gunna lap you, Rogers, I swear.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Steve looked around their corner of the park, frowning for a moment. “Where’s the kid?”

Bucky was barely paying attention, but even he couldn’t miss the way Clint and Sam exchanged a look before shaking their heads.

“Oh. Alright. He hasn’t been answering my texts, so-“

“He’s alright, just- you know. With everything.” Sam shrugged and didn’t seem to want to elaborate. “Havin a hard time.”

“I’ll drag him out for a drink soon. Make sure he doesn’t run himself into the ground.” Clint gave an almost business-like nod. Like taking care of this missing friend was a full-time occupation. With a jolt, Bucky realized they would likely soon be talking about him the same way. If they hadn’t started already. He didn’t like to think about Steve coming to his other friends for advice on how to help him.

There was an off sort of pause. The three of them clearly didn’t want to talk too much about their missing friend in front of someone who didn’t know him, but Bucky could tell that none of them knew what to say, even in private.

“Well, no use waiting around then-“ Steve clapped his hands once. “I’ve got my warmup in, so the three of you can all fight for second place.”

Bucky joined in with the others’ groans and noises of derision, even though he was already regretting leaving the apartment at all.


	5. Leads: In Regards to Ex-In-Laws and Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long break again, apologies! I've really hit a wall in my writing lately, so I've been trying to pursue other interests to give my brain the break it wants so badly. Hopefully it won't last forever and I'll be back to writing a little bit every day again soon!

Wanda was too upset to remember to be afraid of what would happen if she got too far away from Bucky this time. It didn’t matter much, as the answer seemed to be: return to the apartment the moment she blinked. One moment, she was storming down the sidewalk around the park, and the next, she was standing in her living room amongst the stacks of books and Bucky’s used coffee mugs.

She swore softly and sat on the couch with a huff. Her blood still pounded in her annoyance with Bucky, but her lack of options was keeping her from continuing to rage at full force. The binder full of renter’s rules was left open on the coffee table in front of her. With nothing else to do, she studied it, hoping beyond hope that eventually, something would open a door to new memories.

_Things you can touch:_

_-movies                -books                  -furniture               -lights_

_-kitchen utensils- if you wash them after_

_-the bathroom- if you clean it regularly_

Wanda couldn’t help but grin at the author’s tone. It was like they felt no one had a right to things like kitchens and bathrooms, but if they must, they would respect this space or else.

 _This lease is a month to month arrangement and will remain so until its end. You will be informed of the arrangement’s end no less than one week and no more than one month prior to your moveout date._ _This is non-negotiable. There is no possibility of extending this lease. Do not ask._

Wanda frowned at this segment. She couldn’t work out what situation would make this arrangement plausible. Not that she understood the finer points of real estate, but this had to be unusual.

_By agreeing to this lease, you agree to pay back any damage or use of this apartment and collection of belongings threefold._

Wanda smiled. Even if she couldn’t remember who they were, she liked the binder’s author and their fierce protection and defensiveness over the very idea of someone in her space. It matched her own, even though she could barely remember anything about herself or even her belongings. The best she had, as it happened, was a sort of itching in the back of her mind that occurred whenever she read from the binder. But it was a welcome itch- mostly because she knew that once she scratched it, everything would be alright again.

She curled up on the couch and tried to hold on to the feeling- the itch. She could almost find it, when she concentrated. There was warmth and her cheeks stretching into a smile and she could smell the distinct scent of bleach. Wanda knew that shouldn’t be a good smell, but there was something familiar and comforting in it. She could associate it with her favorite flavor of tea- and a handful of disjointed sounds, like rubber soled shoes tumbling into a closet and a long zipper pull. If she let her thoughts wander, she could almost hear a distinct voice speaking the words on the page.

She had fallen into something like sleep, comforted by the half-remembered presence, when the front door opened.

~

The jog had done Bucky good, in spite of himself. He felt more focused. But also more sweaty.

“Before we-“

“Oh what _now_?”

He had been expecting this, and pulled up a neutral expression while her anger built again. Now that he was getting accustomed to her moods of frustration and indignation, it was easier to navigate their interactions. Even separating her anger into more specific, understandable feelings like frustration and indignation helped.

“Shower. I’m not meeting this woman all sweaty and disgusting.”

“It’s not a _date_! The only thing you know about her is she’s a mother, you _creep_.”

But she didn’t follow him into the bathroom while he bathed and changed into a clean pair of jeans and tshirt. Wanda seemed nervous all the way to Noe Valley- starting and stopping talking like her own thought kept interrupting her.

“You okay?”

She looked up, clearly surprised. He asked during one of her quiet stretches in the back of a trolley across town. There were only a few other people taking the trolley on such a nice day.

“Yeah. I’m just…” she shook her head. “This better work out is all.”

“It will. Don’t worry about it.”

She gave him what might have been a grateful smile, but didn’t last long enough for him to be sure.

The neighborhood was like something out of a magazine. The sun brought a color-corrected brightness to every lawn and flowerbed. Bucky’s mouth was starting to feel dry as they stepped quickly up the porch steps of the right house.

“You ready for this?”

Wanda nodded, but Bucky couldn’t miss the way she stuck her hand out next to her, like she half expected someone to take it. Bucky hesitated, but proceeded to knock without another word.

“Just give me a minute!”

Bucky kept half an eye on Wanda as the door opened and a young woman with short, blond hair greeted him.

“Hello?”

Wanda’s face did not light up or even seemed to register anything at all looking at her, so Bucky cleared his throat and tried to smile.

“Hi, um, I’m sorry. You don’t know me, but are you Crystal?”

“That’s me,” the woman didn’t look overly suspicious, but still confused. She was small and pretty, but had a proud set to her jaw that said she had no reason to fear strangers knocking on her door. “Can I help you?”

“Uh- yeah- maybe?” It was suddenly very hard to remember the plans they had made for this conversation. “A friend of mine, she said you had a great um- decorator? Said she did some painting or something in a nursery. I’m looking for some similar work to get done and thought you might help me find the artist.”

A complex series of emotions crossed the woman’s face and she didn’t say anything at all for a moment. He tried not to notice that Wanda was frowning slightly.

"I'm not sure we like one another."

"Why don't you come in?"

"Thanks." Bucky tried not to glance too obviously at Wanda to make sure she followed through the door.

"I'm sorry, who did you say sent you?" Crystal had busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee in the clean, bright kitchen.

"Uh - friend of a friend knows the painter." He searched around for a name. "Ah... Natasha. My friend Steve said his buddy Natasha knew this great painter who did some work for you and gave me the address. I hope I'm not - I mean, I would have called first, but they just had your name and address."

It was a flimsy story, but Crystal didn't seem to question it.

"Hmm. I'm sure none of them want to talk about it too much." When he only blinked, she sighed and leaned against the counter. "I'm sorry if you're looking for the artist, she... she's not available. "

"I don't like that..." Bucky could almost feel the anxiety rolling off the woman at his elbow. "Not available?"

"Yeah, uh, Steve said Natasha was pretty vague about the whole thing. Made it sound like she was away for awhile."

Privately, Bucky didn't like the blond woman's reaction to these questions any more than Wanda did. Crystal was pressing her lips together hard. Like she couldn't decide how much to say.

"There was an... I really shouldn't say. But if you like you can see the work-" A buzzing cut her off and she snatched a cell phone from off the counter before the first ring had finished. "Sorry, this might be-" she gave Bucky a quick wince before answering. "What?"

"I don't like this," Wanda's voice sounded tight and hoarse. Bucky pulled out his phone to have something to focus on so the blond woman wouldn't see him making faces at the wall. "An. She was going to say 'an accident,' wasn't she? I had an accident. I don't want to hear this, I -"

"I _really_ don't think that's a good idea." Crystal was pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke. "She's not even _three_. It's not good for her to be around all that.... yes, I know she goes to the doctor, But you know this is different!"

Bucky kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling blindly. But Wanda was right. It had sounded like Crystal was about to say "an accident." He really wished Crystal had stepped into another room to talk on the phone, her voice was only getting tighter and more forceful.

"I'm saying _no_. We said we'd talk about this and we've talked. You already have her at that shop more than at home. Lord knows I can't stop you if you want to do something, but just because your childhood was-" Crystal cut herself off and took a breath. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard, okay? I'm not trying to be the heartless ex here. Just... think about it before you bring her around all those hurt and sick people, okay? She's a sensitive kid."

A tense pause stretched on and Bucky still wished she had stepped into another room to have this conversation. He was running out of apps to open.

"How are you? Really? Are you sleeping enough? Have you taken your-Okay. ... alright. I'll see you. Take care of yourself, okay Pietro?" She hung up with a deep, steadying breath. "Sorry about that. Divorced parent stuff."

"It's alright, I -"

He was about to ask to see the room in hopes it would jog Wanda's memory, but a soft noise at his side made him pause. Bucky risked a quick glance over and felt his stomach drop. He had assumed that since she hadn't said anything, she was just waiting for the conversation to proceed, but he was clearly wrong. Wanda had her hands pressed over her mouth and her eyes were not just round, but completely blank. He could see her shaking. She caught his eye after a moment and didn't lower her hands, but didn't need to. Her pale face and shaking shoulders said what she clearly couldn't: get me _out of here_.

"I... I should get going.” He straightened up quickly. “I'll find a different painter, thanks though."

Bucky actually had to jog to keep up with Wanda as she strode down the street. He didn't know what would happen if he lost sight of her, but he didn't want to find out when she was in this state. The two of them made it all the way down the street and into an empty alley before Wanda finally screamed. He tried not to react, but knew anyone watching would have seen him jump.

"Hey, what's-"

Her breath was coming in quick gasps and she leaned against the wall for stability. Bucky moved to her side automatically, though he knew his physical presence would do her no good. For a moment, he wondered if she would even want his touch, could he give it, then pushed the thought aside.

"Pietro-" she was crying now, nothing like he'd seen anyone cry before. "How could-"

She let out a cry and gave way to big, body shaking sobs. She slid down the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest. After a moment's hesitation, he followed.

"How could- how could I forget Pietro?" At last the sobs started to slow and she gave a messy sniff. "I'll- I'll never forgive myself. "

"Who-"

"Pietro is the only person I think I've ever really loved." She let out a wet, bitter laugh. "And definitely the only one who has ever loved me."

Something shifted in Bucky's gut at this. A soft downswing that was mostly empathy but bottomed out with something else he didn't have time for right now.

"So you've got a bo-"

"Brother." She sniffed again. "Pietro is my twin. And we must find him."

~

More than a little embarrassed that she had fallen apart so completely in front of someone who might as well be a stranger, Wanda led the way back to the apartment, speaking rapidly whenever there was an opportunity.

"We're twins. We've been through _everything_ together. And I remember him now, but not- not where to _find_ him. Everything little thing about who he is, I know, but it's like-" she shook her hands in frustration. "Like I'm watching a movie of it, but I can't fast forward to the end where I find where he is? I remember our childhood and our parents dying. I remember the streets and finally coming to America. I remember the police and the Barton family and Crystal. God- how could I forget this?"

The lump in her throat was one of anger and frustration now as she strode down the street. It was terrible, and she hated herself for every moment she had spent not thinking of her twin, but the hate was motivating. For the first time since the foggy confusion had started, she knew what she needed- who she needed. Wanda knew that once she found Pietro, all the rest would be sorted out.

"This is my life!” she growled in frustration as they strode down the block to the busstop. “Pietro is the only person I have loved- well- Pietro and Luna. And I _forgot_ them. I didn't know their names this morning."

"Hey, quit beating yourself up." Bucky was easily able to keep stride with her and she was thankful for this small blessing. Moving helped the gears of her mind work through the flood of information and memories she was newly sorting through. "You can't help it you have ghost amnesia."

Wanda was too busy sorting through her thoughts to be annoyed at this last.

"If I could just... if I could just _see_ Pietro, everything would be fine. He will see me." She was sure of this. There was no question in her mind.  "Then, once I have him, I will remember what happened to me and we will work out how to fix it. Then I'm afraid you will have to find a new apartment, but at least I won't bother you anymore."

Bucky only gave a halfhearted snort at this. She was about to roll her eyes and ask him if he was a horse, making such a noise, but stopped herself.

"Thank you." It was uncomfortable to say it, but she forced the words out anyway as they reached the bus stop that would bring them back to the apartment. "I know... this is all very strange. And I know that you didn't have to help me, but here you are. And I..."

Wanda wished he would stop looking at her with his clear grey eyes and raised eyebrows. It was a silly expression, but somehow made her feel embarrassed more than he likely did. She swallowed and hugged her elbows before going on.

"I'm glad that... if one person can see me... at least it's someone who is good enough to help me find my brother and his moonchild."

Bucky was still looking stunned, then frowned. "Hang on - your brother's what? Say that again."

Wanda flipped a hand. "Luna. My niece. We call her "moonchild." She must be so upset with me gone- I don't know how long it had been. I can't believe I forgot her... I'm Néni Wanda."

To Wanda’s complete and utter shock, Bucky laughed aloud.

“ _Neni_!”

He laughed wildly again and a handful of shoppers down the street gave him an odd look before crossing to the opposite sidewalk to avoid him. Bucky didn’t seem to care though.

“Not ‘knee’ twice-“ he slapped his leg to explain while Wanda watched his antics, eyebrows raised. “But ‘Neni!’ I’m guessing that’s ‘auntie’ or something, right?”

“If you are looking to learn a new language, this is a very strange place to start, but yes-“

“Come on!” He jerked his head and strode faster than she’d seen him walk yet down the street. “It’s just around the corner here, I think.”

Wanda followed, almost jogging to keep up with him as he increased his speed. She was too surprised to protest or question his change in demeanor, she only had the presence to follow him until a red and black shopfront loomed up ahead of them.

It was a strange feeling to remember. A dizzy rush of sensory triggers and thoughts. The smell of incense and sage. The sound of cards flipping over on a plush table and wind chimes. The feel of a hot cup of tea in her hands as she sat down with a book.

Wanda’s eyes remained wide, she was afraid to blink as Bucky opened the door of the shop and she followed him inside. The colors and images all rushed into her empty places in her thoughts and she thought for sure each one made her more solid.

“Welcome to- oh hey there!”

“Sam!”

Seeing Sam’s smile was another rush of comfort, and for one wonderful moment, Wanda thought he was looking at her. But he was addressing Bucky, of course, where he stood in the doorway.

“Hey- I, uh-“

Wanda ignored their stilted smalltalk as she stepped around the shop, each display unlocking new sections of her memory. She remembered arranging the crystals and herbs on every surface. She remembered ordering the books- finding others at thrift stores and yard sales. She remembered every flower and star painted on the shelves, and the careful lettering of the signs- both decorative and legible. It was all plain in her mind up until…

“Pietro…” she muttered as she stepped behind the counter next to Sam. “I was on the phone with Pietro…”

Bucky halted in his wandering explanation as to why he was here and seemed to be trying to decide how best to garner information for her without direct communication.

“So- uh- I just came back to explain- I wanted to say… thanks. You didn’t tell Steve where you recognized me from.”

“Oh no problem, Man.” Sam shrugged. “You were givin us the ‘SOS’ face, so I thought it was better to play dumb. Not sure it worked though. Rogers is smarter than he looks.”

Rogers. Steve. More memories clicked into place. Sam and Steve. Some fo the first people in the city they had considered friends.

“Yeah- uh- I thought he’d worry. If he knew… well- he worries about everything since I came back.”

Sam nodded in a way that said he understood more than what was being said aloud. Wanda realized for the first time that she didn’t know how Bucky had lost his arm. But now, associating him with Steve and Sam, she might guess.

“Yeah, well, he worries about everyone.”

Sam’s words snapped Wanda back to her purpose.

“Pietro-“ she hissed, nodding- “we know Steve and Sam! Ask him-“

“Uh- yeah- I- I guess lately it’s been me and… Pietro he’s focused on.”

Sam’s face fell and Wanda’s stomach flipped with nerves.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know much about you except that you’re recently back, so anyone would need support. But what Pietro’s going through…”

“Yeah, I- I heard about his sister…” Bucky trailed off as well, clearly trying to lead Sam into revealing more information than what they had already. But when Sam only gave a sad nod, restacking some books on the counter display, he went on. “And uh- with this place. Trying to keep things running…”

“Yeah, between this place, his regular job, Luna, and all Wanda’s bills it’s been… well, we’re all trying to help out where we can.”

Bucky nodded and glanced at her for help, but Wanda’s heart was in her throat. It was all she could manage to shake her head and move towards the door as Bucky rushed to complete the conversation in a relatively polite manner.


	6. Realizations: In Regards to Medical History and Missed Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She lives!

“Hey, Darcy- sorry to call again. But, uh- weird story- I- I met the guy renting this place out.”

“You did? That’s weird. You sure it was him?”

“Yeah- I’m- I’m sure. He came around the apartment.”

“Tallish? Kinda built? Bad bleach job? Kinda looks like if Grumpy Cat were human but in a kinda hot way?”

Bucky glanced up from the phone on the counter to where Wanda sat across from him. She grimaced slightly at the description, but nodded.

“Yeah- that’s the guy. Pietro, right?”

“Yeah. Maximoff. So if you’ve met him, what are you talking to me for? Not that I don’t enjoy your company or whatever, but I’m on my lunch break and I’ve got a mean shwarma waiting for me to dig in at my desk right now.”

“I’m sorry, no I get it. I’ll be quick. We uh- we talked about some stuff with the lease, but he had to uh- uh- run off to an appointment and I never got any contact info off him. Could you hook me up with ah- a phone number? Email? Carrier pigeon?”

“Ah- I dunno about that, Barnes. I mean, can I run it by him and call you back?”

Bucky and Wanda exchanged the same panicked wince.

“Uh- I- No- don’t worry about it. He said he’d be back, but I was going to go out so I just thought-“

“Try leaving a note on your door that says ‘Pietro, need to see you, leave your number’ or something.”

“Yeah. I mean- that sounds like a sleazy hookup but you know what I’m going to try it anyway. Thanks, Darcy.”

“Well…” Wanda ran a hand through her hair. “That was a mess.”

“We’ve tried his ex, his friends, the _leasing agent_ renting _your_ apartment to _me_. Is there _anywhere_ else we can look for your brother?”

She shook her head. “I know he must be somewhere nearby, but-“ she groaned and beat her fists against her temples. “It’s stupid! How can I not remember where my brother lives? This is ridiculous. I remember just about everything. I even remember where Luna goes to- oh!” She sat up straighter. “We could try the daycare! You could wait with the parents at pick up time and—” She cringed as she caught Bucky’s eye and held up a palm—“No. Heard it. Nevermind.”

Bucky waited for her to go on, but Wanda only sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was hard to see her so frantic. After waiting a moment, he stood up and dug in the cabinet. Wanda didn’t look up as he took out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey and poured a few fingers each. He slid the second across the counter before taking a sip of his. Wanda lifted her eyes at last and frowned at him.

“Solidarity,” he explained, lifting his glass between them.

Her lip twitched and she inclined her head to the toast. Bucky finished the first glass and swapped it with the second. He tried not to notice that Wanda seemed to be watching him very closely.

“What’re you starin at?”

“I don’t know you.” She frowned slightly. “You have met my ex sister-in-law, my friends, learned about Pietro and Luna. But I don’t know anything about you.”

Bucky sipped on the second glass to avoid how steadily she was staring at him. She had such a calm gaze, it set him on edge. He felt like she was reading his expression, but seeing more than was really possible.

“Well, hasn’t really been important.”

“Humor me.” When his brow furrowed, she backtracked. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. I’m just curious.”

Bucky thought this over for a few beats. He stared into his glass rather than at her.

“Well, you know I know Steve. And that I lost my arm.”

She nodded. “So I can guess that you’re military?”

“Iraq.” Bucky kept his eyes on his drink and tried to remember if he’d ever told anyone instead of letting them assume. Then, he tried to think of anyone other than the therapist and Steve that he’d actually had a real conversation with since he’d gotten back. “Two tours. Would have been three if not for-“ he drummed the prosthetic fingers on the counter.

Wanda nodded again, more slowly. “How long-“

“Been back half a year. But they had me in a halfway house the first four months. To get used to the arm and…” he felt stupid saying it out loud, but pushed through. “Work through some… trauma stuff.”

She didn’t say anything to this, even though it was clear she had a litany of questions. Bucky tried to think of how to proceed, but wasn’t sure he could. As if reading his mind, Wanda spoke so suddenly and unexpectedly, it sufficiently distracted him from his spiral.

“Pietro and I… we grew up in Sokovia. We lived in a one bedroom apartment with both of our parents until we were ten and the city was bombed. Pietro and I only survived-“ her voice grew tight here- “Because we were scared, so we hid under the bed. With out parents dead, we lived on the streets until five years ago, when we finally made it here to the US.”

Bucky stared at her, trying to think of what he could possibly say to this.

“I think you win.”

This startled a smile out of her. Bucky watched as she shook her head and picked at her nails.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to make it a competition. I’m not very good with… connecting with people, believe it or not.”

“Oh yeah- I have _no_ idea what that’s like.”

A laugh this time along with the smile. Bucky tried to ignore that this made it feel like the sharing and stilted jokes were almost worth it.

“Thank you, Barnes. For putting up with me. And for helping me look for Pietro.”

Bucky nodded and finished the whiskey. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

“That’s right. You don’t…”

“Work. Yeah.” He sucked his teeth a moment before going on. “Steve knows a guy who designs high tech prosthetics. Hooked me up as a prototype tester. All I have to do is go in and fill out a questionnaire every week.”

Wanda nodded slowly. “I mean, it’s not any of my business… but maybe only leaving your apartment twice a week is not the best way to re-assimilate into civilian life.”

Bucky couldn’t stop a small nose laugh. “Tell me about it. Steve keeps trying to get me to join his running group.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” She frowned, then her entire face lit up again with an idea. “Oh! The jogging group! That’s where you were this morning! You must have met Pietro!”

Bucky shook his head, hating to kill her moment of hope, but knowing it was better to get it over with.

“No. He wasn’t there. They said he was having a hard time with… whatever’s going on with you.”

He didn’t say “your death,” but it was clear they both felt the phrase hanging in the air between them.

~

Wanda spend the night staring at the binder again. She ached even worse, now that she knew who had written it. She was torn between a feeling of intense drive and paralysis. Drive to find Pietro, to get her life back, to fix whatever had gone wrong. And paralysis, in that every idea, every avenue she was faced with, ended in a dead end.

It almost seemed like no time at all until Bucky was awake. She tried not to get too impatient as he used the bathroom and started his coffee, even though he was infuriatingly slow at the process.

“Any new brainwaves while I was getting my beauty rest?”

Wanda frowned. There was something both engaged and comfortable in the way he said this. Almost like it was a project they had embarked on together by choice. Part of her wanted to be upset that he could view her fate so casually while she felt like her stomach was eating itself. But a much bigger part felt a warm surge of comfort and gratitude that he not only seemed to take for granted that they would continue to try to restore her life, but did not resent the mission. Wanda didn’t know if she would have such a giving attitude, were their fortunes reversed. She thought in his place, she might just move.

“No. I was just…” she looked down at the binder and crossed her arms. “Looking this over. You know.”

Bucky nodded slowly. Wanda knew she must make a pretty pathetic image, pining over the one scrap of evidence she had that might lead her back to her twin, but she didn’t much care.

“We’ll… we’ll get it. We’ll figure it out.”

Wanda offered him a small smile in gratitude. “What’s our plan for the day?”

Bucky shrugged and gestured with one hand to the apartment around them. Wanda frowned.

“Oh come on- didn’t we talk about you getting out more last night?”

“Well, _you_ got me drunk.”

She actually snorted at this. “Oh please. You brought the bottle out yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I was drinking for two.”

She laughed again at his particular blunt sense of humor. It was helping her step out of her own mind and keep from spiraling.

“Even so, I’m holding you to what we talked about. Let’s go out.”

Wanda knew she was deflecting her sense of hopelessness in the action of trying to help him. And that this probably nullified any claim of good intentions she might otherwise have had. But she pushed that knowledge away in favor of committing to the action itself.

Bucky raised his eyebrows at her, skeptical, as he poured his cereal.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Anything you want!” She shrugged, hoping her what enthusiasm she could inject into her tone would be contagious. “We could hit a bar or the park. You could try the running group again.”

But he was shaking his head already. “Maybe- maybe next week.”

Wanda nodded and moved on quickly. “Then lets do something else. Go somewhere you don’t have to talk to people. I’ve got an idea if you don’t.”

When he only chewed his Captain Crunch, she took this as consent to whatever she had planned.

“Do you know Diego Rivera?”

~

Wanda was relieved that Bucky agreed to going to the art institute. She thought she might go mad if trapped back in the apartment for a whole day. She was sure that, even once they figured things out and returned her life to normal, she would have to move after this experience.

It was a miserably beautiful day. Beach goers in swimsuits were crawling over every inch of the city. Normally happy to be amongst people enjoying the city, Wanda found herself annoyed with every college student and newlywed on the street.

“Have you been to any of the museums in town yet?” her bad mood was forcing her to make more smalltalk than she wanted to. “I mean- I know you haven’t been here long, but-“

“No, come on. I barely been to grocery stores.”

Wanda tilted her head in concession. “Well you should go to some. There’s some great galleries in the city.”

“Why does it not surprise me you’re artsy and hang out at museums?”

Wanda fought down a smile as they strode through the streets. “My great decorating skills, clearly.”

But they both knew that wasn’t true. The cabinets in the apartment were still unfinished, and the colorful pillows and curtains were a result of poverty more than a love of eclectic design. She’d gotten most of the furnishings of her apartment at the ends of driveways or in thrift shops.

They were quiet the rest of the way to the art institute. Wanda didn’t speak, so as not to distract him while he passed through the entrance and into the gallery. She tried not to notice the way he shook out his sleeve to cover his left hand.

They walked in silence around the gallery for a time. Wanda almost forgot about her situation in looking at some of her favorite pieces. Pietro always said she was a nightmare to go to museums with. She would always ignore whoever she was with as she wandered around the galleries and halls, often losing them in the crowd. Then, once she had thought of something to say, she would search around for the poor individual and drag them over to the piece she wanted to discuss. She knew it was irritating, but she just couldn’t help it. She got lost in trying to experience the artwork, then wanted to share what thoughts they inspired.

But she kept a careful eye over her shoulder on Bucky, making sure he didn’t wander off or anyone bothered him. If she was being honest, she would have to admit that this had nothing to do with the fact that she would find herself back at the apartment should he get too far.

~

As much as he really didn’t want to go to the gallery in the first place, Bucky was glad Wanda had dragged him out of the apartment. She was the perfect person to go to a gallery with. She left him alone, and didn’t even hover. She’d occasionally show up at his elbow when he got too lost in his thoughts and jerk her head at a different piece to break his spiral.

“Sorry,” she muttered after the third time she had done this. “I know I do this.”

“No- it’s good.” He spoke quietly, hoping no one around him would notice. “Good to keep me moving.”

“Oh-“ she seemed surprised by his honesty. “That’s… glad to hear it.”

After just a little over an hour, they found on another again. They left the gallery without a word and stepped off down the street. Bucky kept trying to think of something to say, but gave up after a few blocks. Wanda seemed content to walk in silence. And he had enough to worry about.

It seemed that he had already used up his patience for this outing. Away from the distraction of the art and back on the streets, every group of laughing teenagers seemed far too close and he jumped at every car horn. He kept forgetting Wanda was with him.

“Are you alright?” Her voice was soft, even with all the traffic around them, but he still heard clearly. “Do you need to-“

“It’s- it’s fine-“ He could tell his voice was weak and shaking. Speaking at all seemed to take a lot of effort. “I- I just-“

“We’ll go back to the apartment. I’ll get us to a bus stop-“

But the tunnel vision was already setting in. His mind felt somehow separate from his head. Bucky was trying to stay calm, taking deep breaths to focus, but he was already resigned to the episode.

“Bucky-“

He was unable to respond. The air was suddenly far too hot. He could almost feel sand in his eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear the rattle of gunfire and shouts.

“No- Bucky- look-“

“Watch out!”

There was a split second of ringing in his ears before something hit him in the side with the force of a bull.

“Bucky!”

The world spun as he fell. He wanted to catch himself, but he’d lost all sense of the space around him, even before he was hit. All he could remember as the ground hit him was that Wanda probably couldn’t do anything to help him.

~

“Oh shit… oh fuck…”

Bucky groaned and tried to open his eyes, but only saw sharp bursts of color.

“Wanda?”

“Sir- sir-“ another voice. “Sir- everything’s alright. Just try to take slow, deep breaths. You had a bad fall, but it looks like everything’s just fine. Just take your time and breath.”

Bucky tried to listen and obey the voice, but his head was pounding. He tried to search through his memory for what might have happened. He remembered the sun. Bright murals. Wanda telling him what made Rivera such a visionary.

At last, he was able to open his eyes and actually see the florescent light hanging over him. Everything had a sterile smell and he could feel crinkling paper where his hand was spread out next to him. A hospital. They had taken him to the hospital. That made sense. With the way his head was aching. He tried to sit up, but found himself flopping awkwardly to his left side.

“Oh- sir- hold on, your…”

But Bucky did not need further explanation to understand. Heart sinking, he stole himself to look down at his left arm. The main length of bicep had been shattered. His movements still caused bits of plexi to fall onto the floor next to his bed.

“Oh… shit…”

“Bucky- I didn’t know what to do. The biker hit you and you fell and passed out.” Wanda was hovering by his side, clearly beyond anxiety. “I followed, I didn’t know what else to do when they took you away. Your… your arm…”

Bucky tried not to look at her and address the nurse instead.

“I- I uh- I’ll need to get repairs…”

“Don’t worry- when we saw it was Starktech, we made a call to the prosthetics wing. Someone will be down shortly to assess the damage and start putting in orders for repairs.”

Bucky nodded and allowed the nurse to run through concussion screening basics. He tried not to look at Wanda, but shot her a reassuring wince of a smile when he was certain the nurse was occupied with her chart.

“Oh Barnes, Barnes, what have you done?”

It was the therapist. Bucky’s heart sank. He did not feel like explaining the incident to Dr. Banner right now. He likely never would, but that was beside the point. Thankfully, his therapist seemed to read this.

“Don’t worry, no lecture this time. Are you clear to go?” The therapist addressed the nurse now. “Can I take Mr. Barnes up to the prosthetics wing? Is he clear for walking?”

Wanda hovered by his elbow as they made their way to the elevator and up to the recovery centered side of the hospital. She said nothing, but Bucky found himself constantly checking to make sure she was still with them. She looked anxious, and Bucky found himself wishing they were alone so they could speak to one another openly. But after they started down the correct hall, she began to frown.

“I…” She was murmuring more to herself than Bucky, and he had to strain to hear. “I have been here. I know this… I… Pietro!”


End file.
